


Stomache was the way to a man's heart (and not in the way Natasha would have you believe)

by Celticas



Series: Trope Bingo [13]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Food as a wooing technique, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22127842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticas/pseuds/Celticas
Summary: Phil wasn’t in the habit of eating food that he didn’t know the origin of. Pre-packed meals he pulled from a stack of identical meals in a random bodega’s freezer section was fine. The cafeteria at the office, while often bland, was safe. A packet of his favourite donuts that mysteriously appeared on the desk of his locked office was no-go.
Relationships: clint barton/ phil coulson
Series: Trope Bingo [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518110
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75
Collections: Clint/Coulson Trope Bingo





	Stomache was the way to a man's heart (and not in the way Natasha would have you believe)

Phil wasn’t in the habit of eating food that he didn’t know the origin of. Pre-packed meals he pulled from a stack of identical meals in a random bodega’s freezer section was fine. The cafeteria at the office, while often bland, was safe. A packet of his favourite donuts that mysteriously appeared on the desk of his locked office was no-go.

But he knew where these were from. Or rather, who they were from. SHIELD’s newest recruit. He shouldn’t know where Phil’s office was, let alone be able to get into it. The tiny arrow in purple sharpie scratched onto one corner of the packet was distinct.

Making a mental note to upgrade the security of his office, he ripped into the packet. Munching on the treat as he logged into the system.

He had assumed it was a one off. A thank you for giving him a safe place, the possibility of a home.

A week later there was a coffee, still steaming, and a chocolate muffin. The napkin had a crude sketch of a lion’s head, still in purple. The little square of paper went into the bottom draw, sitting beside his half finished Captain America trading card collection.

It was a three week gap between the second delivery and the third. If Barton was on base there was at least one delivery each week. For six months the food appeared behind an increasingly secure door, the whole time he never saw hide nor hair of the other man.

The last block of classes Barton, and his class, were scheduled for included disguise. Hiding in plain sight was Phil’s specialty and which every agent was meant to teach it always came and badgered him into taking over if he was in town.

Watching the class file in after lunch, specifically heavy to have them sleep, he amused himself picking where each recruit came from. Three CIA, two Navy, one Army, two Airforce, one NSA, and Barton, bringing up the back of the group. The federal agents chatted easily, and eyed him wearily seeing through the intentionally bland face and boring suit. The ex-military contingent ignored him, not intentionally, they just weren’t used to looking below the surface. And then there was Barton. He knew who Phil was. He knew the depths that were contained behind the kind blue eyes. He barely acknowledged the older man.

It cut in a way Phil hadn’t been expecting. 

He struggled to stay focused on the curriculum, getting through it with pure bull-headedness and having taught this same class a hundred times. His eyes being drawn to the bowed blonde head that hadn’t looked at him once since entering the room.

The second his presentation was complete he swept up his papers and was out of the room. Standing there and answering questions from everyone but the person he wanted to talk to wasn’t happening.

Agents darted out of his way as he stalked through the hall, too focused on what was in his head to maintain his usual benign expression. The hard, ex-Ranger showing through. Everything sharpened further when he slammed through his door to see a cup of tea and an apricot danish on his desk. It was his favourite, and the cafeteria didn’t serve them. Which meant not only had Barton broke into his office, he had also broken the perimeter. Part of his joining SHIELD had been an agreement not to leave base without permission until he became an Agent.

Pissed off that he had broken his word, and a little bit about his attitude in class, he stormed his way ten floors down. The elevator staying empty as he went, every agent that went to enter deciding the stairs were a better option.

Barton’s tiny bunk, only containing a bedroom and bathroom, was the last one on the corridor right next to the stairs. As a Senior Agent, Phil had the right to enter without waiting for permission. As a decent human being, he was going to knock and wait to be asked in.

“Yeah?” A voice, muffled by wood called out.

Phil entered. Barton was lounging on his bed, boots off but otherwise still fully dressed, ready to run if he needed to. The training manual for the quinjet open on his lap, another thing he shouldn’t have access to.

“Agent Barton.”

The heavy book thumped to the floor as the archer flew to standing, back straight in his version of at attention, never having served.

“Agent Coulson, sir.” He relaxed out of his stiff stance after delivering his greeting. “Um, what’s going on?”

Phil dropped the mug of tea and danish on the desk. “You do not have permission to leave base and I would thank you to stay out of areas you do not have clearance for.”

The blush that worked its way up Clint’s, because it was the man not the agent he was talking to, flushed his neck and cheeks.

“Yes sir. Sorry. I um. Sorry.” Clint shuffled from foot to foot.

Some of the anger drained from Phil in the face of the anxiety in Clint’s body language.

“Why? What were you trying to prove?” Phil asked, wanting to understand. HIs own body language softening, exuding a willingness to listen.

“Nothing.” Clint muttered. “You were just… so competent. When you brought me in. I…” He spoke a bit cleared and then stopped suddenly. The blush blooming again, stronger this time.

In the haze of the blush and unwillingness to meet his eye, Phil realised what was going on. He moved further into the room, pushing into Clint’s personal space. Crowding him. Searching his eyes one last time, looking for desire and acceptance. Seeing both in spades, he closed the gap.

Lips met softly.

Clint was unmoving under the contact. Surprise holding him still. Then he was surging forward, opening. One hand grabbing the lapel of Phil suit, and the other winding around his waist. Pulling him closer and then holding him there.

**Author's Note:**

> Please please please go over to my [ tumblr ](https://quartzcelticas.tumblr.com/) and check out what's happening over there.


End file.
